


WIP Amnesty: Harry Potter and the Warring of the Prophets

by aimmyarrowshigh



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, WIP Amnesty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2005-01-12
Updated: 2005-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:15:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28499676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aimmyarrowshigh/pseuds/aimmyarrowshigh
Summary: The future is set. Or is it? With human Seers and Centaurs predicting opposing fates for the world - both Muggle and Wizarding - Lord Voldemort must be headed off until the prophets are sure of what they're seeing. Unfortunately, the Dark Lord can't be Harry's biggest concern when Hermione is falling apart at the seams and Ron may - or may not - have bigger problems than anyone could have seen when the brains attacked.Originally posted 12 January 2005.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley





	1. Chapter 1

**Category:** General  
 **Keywords:** Sixth Year H/G R/Hr  
 **Rating:** PG-13  
 **Spoilers:** SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, FB, QTTA, OoTP  
 **Summary:** The future is set. Or is it? With human Seers and Centaurs predicting opposing fates for the world - both Muggle and Wizarding - Lord Voldemort must be headed off until the prophets are sure of what they're seeing. Unfortunately, the Dark Lord can't be Harry's biggest concern when Hermione is falling apart at the seams and Ron may - or may not - have bigger problems than anyone could have seen when the brains attacked.  
 **DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**HARRY POTTER** **AND THE** **WARRING OF THE PROPHETS**

_A Sixth-Year Adventure_

**C** hapter **O** ne: **H** earth _and_ **H** ome

**"H** appy birthday dear Harry, happy birthday to you!"

Harry looked up at the smiling faces around him, feeling as though he should smile, too... but he didn't remember how to begin.

"Go on, Harry," urged Ron, his arm - still vaguely scarred by the brain's tentacles - around Hermione's waist, as it so often was now, "Blow out the candles!"

Harry closed his eyes, wishing with all his might that this would not be the last time the group was together, that all of them would remember Sirius, and that everything would be over soon. He opened his sullen green eyes and blew half-heartedly at the shimmering candles. They all flickered out obediently, and the inhabitants of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, applauded.

"Happy birthday, Harry, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, giving Harry a hug before taking up her wand to slice the sumptuous birthday cake she had magicked for the occasion.

Harry couldn't speak. He hadn't spoken much since term ended, except when Mr. Weasley called to check up on him, and even then, Mr. Weasley had to ask very direct questions in order to get an answer.

Sirius was gone.

"First slice for the birthday boy!" Mrs. Weasley sang, handing Harry a chipped plate of cake topped with his favorite Fortescue strawberry-peanut-butter ice cream.

Harry's gaze drifted to her face. Mrs. Weasley had grown older in the last month; her kind face sported premature wrinkles - so much like Lupin's - and her eyes sparkled with tears more often than not. But now, she was smiling, and Harry couldn't bear the knowledge that her happiness was to be short-lived. Looking around at his fellow celebrators, he saw that they were all smiling at him expectantly, so he ate a small bite of his cake.

Fred, George, Bill, Charlie, and Ron cheered.

"Happy sweet sixteen," Hermione said, winking at Harry as she lifted her fork to her mouth.

Harry looked down at his plate, dragging his own fork through the cake and icing, not feeling at all hungry. He felt so apart from everyone else around him; they all seemed to have forgotten entirely about Sirius...

This was his house. That made it just that much more painful for Harry, the fact that he was living in Sirius' house - just as Sirius had promised him he could one day, but with one major change in the plan. Sirius was not there.

"Hey, Mum," Fred called suddenly, jolting Harry from his depressed reverie. "Can George and I have your cake recipe?"

"Fred, I told you," Mrs. Weasley said, impatiently, "You are not going to use my recipes to develop more of those foul sweets. If you really want to learn to cook, you're going to have to find someone else to teach you, because I refuse to be a part of that - "

"Unbelievably successful enterprise known as Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes?" George interrupted, shaking his head. "Your loss, Mum."

Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes certainly was successful; since moving out of Hogwarts and onto its premise in Diagon Alley, the twins' sales had expanded from just bored Gryffindors to jokesters of all ages. Their stock had expanded too, from the Ton-Tongue Toffees and Skiving Snackboxes that had started their repertoire: as Fred and George were fond of saying, "anything that could be charmed would be charmed by the charming Weasley twins!" A jaunt to their shop was an adventure in comedy, and it was impossible to just browse their shelves of trick sweets, bottled jinxes, hex powders, and other mischief-making aids. Ron had confided to Harry early upon arriving at the Headquarters that he got a "Family Discount" of two percent, and the twins had grudgingly agreed that Harry deserved one as well, so anytime that Malfoy caused trouble, they could get two percent more revenge than anyone else.

As Mrs. Weasley and the twins began to barter for permission to experiment on Mrs. Weasley's recipes, Harry's gaze shifted to his best friends. Ron had also confessed to Harry upon his arrival that he and Hermione had had a "slight change in their relationship." Ginny had cut in teasingly, exclaiming that "no one would have ever guessed it from all the snogging they'd been doing!" since school's end, and Ron had tossed a pillow at her.

Harry's eyes flicked over to Ginny, who stood with Bill, Lupin, and Tonks, laughing. She had not tried to force Harry into conversation like everyone else at Grimmauld Place, and she seemed to be keeping her distance. Something had changed in her since the Department of Mysteries.

Something had changed in all of them.

"Harry, are you going to finish your cake?" someone growled by Harry's elbow, making him jump.

Moody was standing there, quite as grizzled as ever, eyeing - with both eyes - Harry's nearly untouched slice of cake. "Because, if you're not," Moody continued, "I'd be glad to take it off your hands."

Harry nodded, handing over the chipped plate.

"Fanks," Moody mumbled, his mouth full of chocolate cake and red icing. "Molly's is the only cooking I trust."

Harry felt a little guilty about not finishing the cake Mrs. Weasley had prepared, since she had spent so much time and effort on icing the Gryffindor Lion onto it in shimmering gold, and the one bite he'd taken had been delicious, even to Harry, who thought everything tasted like cardboard these days.

Mrs. Weasley fussed over Harry constantly, forcing him to eat three square meals a day, making sure that he was drinking enough water and not spending too much time locked up alone in his room. She seemed to be taking extra care to make him feel included and informed in the actions being taken by the Order this year. After all, he was staying at Grimmauld Place longer now, and what with the invention of both Extendable Ears and the newer Extendable Eyeballs, there wasn't much point in trying to keep the kids in the dark.

Fred and George themselves had officially joined the order several months ago, the very day that they'd quit school, and they told Ron, Hermione, Harry, and Ginny every detail of the meetings anyway. The Order had grown to almost a hundred in number, they informed the younger wizards, and an enormous Engorgement Charm needed to be put on the parlor for every meeting just to cram everyone in like sardines. Seventeen members of the Order had taken up residence at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, and Fred and George announced proudly that everyone living there was considered one of the most important people in the war against Voldemort. Eight of the nine Weasleys (Percy had denounced them and decided to live in an apartment on Diagon Alley), Lupin, Moody, Tonks, Kingsley, Fletcher, Snape, and Dumbledore were among the Order members in permanent residence, though Dumbledore was in-and-out constantly and Snape never associated with his housemates. Fred and George had also informed them that Neville Longbottom and his gran would be moving in within a few days, since they were being tailed by Death Eaters ever since Neville had braved up and fought at the Department of Mysteries.

As a result of its overpopulation, Extension Charms had been used on the house to make extra rooms until it appeared from the street as a mansion, but Harry knew that no one but the Order could even see it, due to Dumbledore's Fidelius Charm. The house no longer looked - or smelled - as decrepit as last summer, either, since Mrs. Weasley had moved the family out of the Burrow and into hiding there. It shone with a warm, homey cleanliness now, and Mrs. Weasley had bewitched it to always smell vaguely of fresh-baking bread. The portrait of Mrs. Black had been removed from the wall with the aid of Instantly Incinerating Acid Ice (courteously donated by Weasley's Wizard Wheezes) and replaced by a large painting of the housemates. The entirety of Number Twelve was decorated with chattering, friendly, framed photos of its inhabitants... and Sirius.

Harry sighed, sitting down cross-legged on the floor.

"Harry, what's wrong?" Hermione asked, coming over and sitting down beside him, Ron following right behind her.

Harry shrugged. He had said only a few words to his best friends this summer, and he knew that they were more worried about him than anyone, even Dumbledore, but it seemed to him that his ability to converse had died along with Sirius.

"Harry, please," Hermione said, sounding close to tears, "Harry, please talk to us. Are there too many people here? Are you overwhelmed? Do you need to see us alone?"

Harry hesitated before shaking his head. Despite the fact that he spent the majority of his time alone when he could wangle the opportunity, he felt better when everyone was around him, when he could see everyone he knew and cared about and had them within arm's reach, when he knew without doubt that they were alive. Without speaking, he suddenly flung his arms around Hermione's neck.

"Harry," she whispered, and he felt her shoulders shuddering has she cried. Ron's hands clutched Harry's shoulders consolingly, and Harry turned so as to grab Ron with one arm, Hermione still clasped in the other.

Slowly, the other filtered in around him as well: Ginny, then Fred, George, Mrs. Weasley, Lupin, Tonks, Mr. Weasley, Bill, and Charlie. Moody, Kingsley, and Dumbledore stayed off to the side, but watched Harry's heartbreak as outsiders.

Harry sat in the middle of the great mass, feeling each person's involvement distinctly.

Hermione, her head on his right shoulder, embraced him as a brother, her worried tears wetting his shirt. Dolohov's curse has permanently damaged her right lung and two of her vertebrae, forcing her to take a strong dose of Painkilling Potion every morning and night, and two puffs on a Respiratory Rehabilitator every four hour - both provided by the Ministry of Magic with her Order of Merlin, 2nd Class. She never blamed Harry for her pain, but he felt guilty every time he saw her massage her back surreptitiously or choke on her breath.

And Ron, on his left, his bright head resting on Harry's own dark one. Ron imbibed quite a lot of Professor Ichabod's Immortilization Inhibitor lately, on the pretense of preventing the panic attacks he got whenever flashes of what he had seen or through during the brains' attack resurfaced. Unfortunately, it also made him a bit forgetful in general - Hermione and Ginny were forever reminding him where he had put his wand, or feeding him reminders of what he had been saying when he lost his train of thought halfway through speaking. Harry was somewhat concerned about how much of the potion Ron was taking, but he tried not to think about that, either - it was his fault Ron needed it at all. Of course, the one thing Ron never forgot was that he had also received an Order of Merlin, 2nd Class, and he mentioned this to every person he met.

Little Ginny has curled up right in Harry's lap, her arms around his waist and her head resting just beneath his chin. She had not suffered any lasting injuries from their battle in the Department of Mysteries, but she seemed almost more afraid of Lord Voldemort than anyone else - and no wonder: she had already learned the extent of his powers, and had already proved herself susceptible to them. She spent much of her time now looking after Hermione and Ron, or standing mutely in Harry's doorway, watching him brood. Sometimes she would enter his room and sit beside him on the bed, smoothing back his unruly hair. She never questioned him, never spoke - she just gently comforted him. Ginny had, unnoticed by Harry (who, to be fair, had been very preoccupied last year) blossomed into a young woman of Veela-quality beauty. It seemed to Harry that having grown up in a house full of boys, Ginny had subconsciously made herself look as feminine as humanly possible. Harry felt a small twinge of... something... despite his anguish that such a beautiful girl was curled in his lap.

Fred and George had both crouched behind him, hands on his shoulders to the sides of Ron's- and Hermione's heads. They both thanked Harry copiously every day for the starter to Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, which had been named the "Top New Wizarding Company of 1995" by _the Daily Prophet_ 's business magazine, _Galleons and Knuts_. They had also recently informed Harry that he was their favorite brother, which both flattered and highly embarrassed him.

The adults. They all had gotten to their knees around the knot of children and placed a hand on the head, shoulder, or back of the nearest. They were all constantly trying to coerce Harry into speaking, which - although it annoyed him - he appreciated. He knew they were all just trying to help him fill the void that Sirius had left.

And Dumbledore, standing over by the table, his plate of cake and ice cream still in hand. He had taken to coming into Harry's room for fifteen minutes every evening to tell him exactly what was happening and to give him news on Hagrid's mission. His light blue eyes now looked on with something like melancholy yearning.

It was for this reason, perhaps, that after a long while, he clapped his spidery hands together, cleared his throat, and announced, "Well... if Harry has no objections, I know I for one would like to give him his gift."

"Yes," said Lupin, groaning a little as his knees cracked when he stood. "That's an excellent idea."

With that, everyone stood one by one, Ginny last before Harry. Kingsley pointed his wand towards the staircase to the living quarters and said, " _Accio presents!_ "

Fourteen brightly-wrapped packages soared towards them and came to rest in a jumble on the kitchen table. Dumbledore fished through it and extracted a pale blue cube, just the same color has his eyes. He smiled grandfatherly at Harry and handed him the present graciously.

Harry gave Dumbledore a very slight smile - just an upturn of a lip - and began to tear open the paper. Once he'd opened the plain, wooden chest, he removed -

"Oh, just like the ones of Krum at the World Cup!" Ginny gushed, "It's so cute! How did you ever get it?"

"I made it," Dumbledore said modestly, surveying the miniature figure of Harry in red Quidditch robes, skimming the air just above the chest in pursuit of a minute Golden Snitch with pride.

Harry looked up in surprise. "You made it?" he asked, impressed.

Everyone seemed to hold their breath for a moment - Harry had spoken! Then Dumbledore nodded and said, "Yes, I did. I was a bit of an amateur toymaker in my youth, I confess. I hope you like it."

Harry nodded, watching his miniature self make a spectacular catch. He looked up into Dumbledore's face. "Thank you, Professor."

"Us next!" Fred and George chimed together, pulling a long, thin, green envelope from the pile.

Harry opened it and - in spite of everything - a mild grin spread over his face. "One hundred galleons at Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. Excellent."

"I'll say!" said Ron, "I didn't even think you guys... um... oh, damn - sorry Mum - I... "

"You're surprised at Harry's gift from Fred and George," prompted Hermione gently.

"Oh, right. I didn't even think you guys offered Gift Parchments!"

Fred shrugged. "For valued customers - "

"Like Harry - " George augmented.

"- We do."

Everyone seemed deeply heartened by Harry's good mood as he opened the remaining gifts: A pensieve from Lupin, a pound of Honeyduke's Best Dark Fudge from Tonks, a Weird Sisters recording from Ron, an illustrated book called "The 422nd Quidditch World Cup: Play By Play" from Hermione, a Pocket Foe Glass from Moody, a gift parchment to the Diagon Alley Owlery from Bill, a dragonhide jacket (black Hungarian Horntail) from Charlie, a book about Auror training from Kingsley, and a copy of a new unauthorized biography of himself from Ginny, who had seen it in a shop and declared that it was the funniest thing she had ever read.

"And now, our gift," Mrs. Weasley said happily as Mr. Weasley pulled from his pocket a thin box, about the size and shape of a wristwatch.

Harry peeled away the snitch-patterned paper and opened the box.

"Oh - Mr. Weasley... Mrs. Weasley... you shouldn't have - I mean, I - "

"Nonsense, Harry dear," Mrs. Weasley said, reaching over and kneading his shoulder lovingly. "If anyone deserves a hand on the Weasley clock, it's you."

Harry grinned widely as he hugged Mrs. Weasley hard. "Thank you," he said softly into her cheek.

"Let's go put it in place, shall we?" said Mr. Weasley, also smiling, taking the engraved gold clock hand from Harry.

They all walked as one into the living room, where Mr. Weasley ceremoniously opened the glass clock covering and wound Harry's hand onto the face of the clock. As soon as it was in place, it swung around to point to "Home."

"Hurrah!" Mrs. Weasley cheered, and everyone applauded. Ron replaced his arm around Hermione's waist and kissed her forehead happily as Fred and George ruffled Harry's hair.

Just then, the door burst open.

"Sorry to spoil the party," Professor Snape droned, "But I think you should turn on the Muggle wireless. Now."


	2. At Fault

**C** hapter **T** wo: **A** t **F** ault

Dumbledore's clear eyes stopped looking kindly and took on an air or urgency. "Severus, what happened?"

As he spoke, he crossed into the drawing room, which -- ironically -- had been charmed to be "magic free," so a Muggle television and radio would work inside headquarters, allowing the Order access to information concerning any acts the Death Eaters may commit against Muggles.

"Mass murder," Snape reported grimly. "At King's Cross. It has to have been wizards, because it was a massive cloud of Garroting Gas, and Muggles don't have that, do they?"

Snape was pacing the front hall, speaking tersely as Dumbledore turned the dial on the ancient radio, trying to find a station amidst the static. "I think it was Pritchard, possibly Moon. But that is only my hypothesis."

A voice finally crackled through the dusty speakers of the radio. "It's a scene of carnage at London's King's Cross Station this evening. Rescue workers have been removing bodies for nearly an hour and it seems as if the victims of the mysterious asphyxiation are not confined to any one area of the station. At last count, seventy-one adult and thirteen child bodies had been recovered from the building. Officials are, as yet, unsure what caused the catastrophe, and the only clue found as to an outside source is a work of graffiti on the wall between platforms nine and ten -- " Everyone at Number 12, Grimmauld Place exchanged a look -- "Of a green skull with what appears to be a snake protruding from its mouth..."

Dumbledore switched the radio off, and Snape stopped pacing. For a minute, everything was frozen.

Dumbledore spoke quietly, his gaze never shifting from then radio dial. "Bill, please go inform the Daily Prophet contacts so they can begin an account. Kingsley, Tonks, head to the Auror office and begin an authorized search for any Death Eaters known to work in or around London -- especially Noam Pritchard and Lee Moon. Remus, please convene the Order. I will return in thirty minutes for a briefing."

Bill nodded curtly and shrugged into his bank coat over his jeans and sleeveless "Weird Sisters 1989" concert tee-shirt. As he buttoned it up, he walked into the front hall to Apparate, and, after a moment of whispered dialogue, Tonks and Kingsley followed. The crowd still gathered around the radio heard the three Order members in the hall talking quietly, but could not make out their words. As they Apparated as one with a loud pop!, Dumbledore finally stood. He met Harry's eyes once again.

"Harry, please take Ginny, Ron, and Hermione upstairs with the cake and continue your party."

Harry looked at him incredulously -- eighty-four innocent people were dead; who could possibly celebrate?

"It is what the Order needs you to do right now, Harry. Please. You will be kept informed."

Silent again, Harry nodded and returned to the kitchen, where he gathered up his gifts. Ginny levitated the carton of ice cream and floated it in front of her as she carried the cake, and Hermione had several forks and spoons clutched in her hands.

Ron, his face quite blank, but attuned to the somber mood around him, approached his sister and tentatively whispered, "Ginny - what's going on? I - I think I _did_ know, but..." in her ear.

"We'll recap for you upstairs, Ron," Ginny said patiently. "Would you mind carrying the ice cream upstairs?"

Ron nodded, politely bewildered, and plucked the carton - over the sides of which trickles of pink were dripping - out of the air and followed along.

The four of them gathered in the girls' room, which was much less cluttered than the one Harry and Ron would soon also be sharing with Neville.

Harry sat down on the edge of one of the beds and put his head in his hands.

_Seventy-one adult and thirteen child bodies have been recovered..._

"It's all my fault," he muttered. "It's my fault He's back at all, it's my fault any of this is happening..."

"It isn't," Hermione argued, sitting down beside him. She winced and reached around to rub her back.

"It's my fault, Hermione. It's my fault that eighty-four people are dead, it's my fault that your back hurts and you can never breathe, it's my fault Ron can't remember anything - "

"How is that your fault?" Ron asked, bemused.

Harry merely continued as though Ron hadn't spoken. " - It's my fault Cho Chang is always crying, it's my fault someone tried to blow up the Longbottoms' house last week, it's my fault Cedric's parents don't have a son, it's my fault you all had to move out of the Burrow, it's my -- it's my fault Sirius is dead... it's..."

Ginny sat down on Harry's other side. Her small hands began to massage his back and worked their way up to his head, where she began to smooth his hair consolingly. "Harry, none of those things are your fault. They're Tom Riddle's fault. _Not yours_."

Harry looked up at her. He had never heard her say her possessor's name. "But I could have - "

"Could you have prevented Tom Riddle Senior from leaving his wife before... _Voldemort_ ," Ginny spat, then shuddered, "was born?"

Harry said nothing.

"No," she said firmly. "So you could never have stopped any of this. He's just evil, Harry. And unless you made him evil - and you didn't - none of this is your fault."

Ginny's pretty face was set in sharp, determinate lines, and her soft brown eyes were filled with light.

Harry nodded.

"Did you ever eat? I know you gave your sandwich to Moody..." Ginny continued, running her fingertips over Harry's scalp, making his hair stand on end.

Harry shook his head.

"Well, have something now. You're wasting away."

Harry wanted to protest, but couldn't. He knew it was true, he was skinnier than he had ever been. "I don't - I mean, it's excellent, but I'm not - in the mood for - "

"So have a sandwich," Hermione suggested, and before Harry could stop her, she had opened the door, pointed her wand down the stairs, and said, " _Accio Sandwich!_ "

"Hermione!"

"Hang on, it's fighting its way out of the Chillbox," she reported. "It's coming."

"Hermione - " Harry began again, but she interrupted him as the sandwich flew into her waiting hand.

"Got it. It's your favorite, Harry... roast beef and ham... on Italian bread... yum, yum..."

Harry couldn't help cracking a smile. "Oh, fine, Hermione! I'll eat it!"

* * *

Harry didn't wake until noon the following morning, as he, Hermione, and Ginny had been explaining the King's Cross massacre to Ron until nearly midnight, and then Fred and George had appeared to tell them all about the Order meeting, followed by Dumbledore, who reiterated the facts: All Order members who were Aurors were to track down Pritchard, Moon, and any other London-based Death Eaters, and anyone with Muggle-relation skills was to help with the relief effort.

The death toll by the time Harry fell asleep was nearly four-hundred.

When he finally did awaken, he sat up, rubbed his eyes, and saw Ron sitting on the windowseat, staring into the backyard with a smile on his face.

"Ron?"

"Shh!" Ron hissed, turning to face Harry indignantly. "They'll hear you!"

"Who will hear me?" Harry asked curiously, getting out of bed and pulling a tee-shirt over his head.

"Hermione and Ginny," Ron said, a dazed smile still playing on his lips as he stared out the open window. "They're outside sunning... er, sunning - er - "

"Themselves?" Harry finished for him.

Ron nodded. "That's it."

As Harry settled next to him on the windowseat, Ron stood and crossed to the dresser, where he opened the bottle of Professor Ichabod's Immortilization Inhibitor and swallowed two capfuls.

"Ron," Harry said tentatively, "Do you really need that much of that stuff?"

"Harry," Ron said stoutly, "You don't understand what I'm trying to forget. You don't know."

"Oh, really? I've never seen something I wanted to forget? Try me."

"Harry - you don't know. You haven't seen this. I know for a fact."

"Ron - "

"Just forget it."

Harry turned his attention back to the backyard, where Hermione and Ginny were indeed sunning themselves. Hermione, in a black two-piece bathing suit, was lying on her back on a chaise longue, her head turned to face Ginny. Ginny, however, was quite the opposite of Hermione: She was also languishing on a chaise longue, but hers was under the shadow of an umbrella, and Ginny was wearing loose, knee-length linen pants and a very loose, translucent, white linen top and sunglasses. She also appeared to be reading aloud from a magazine called "teenWitch Weekly."

"Isn't she great?" Ron asked gushingly, watching Hermione laugh.

"Yeah," Harry said quietly as he watched Ginny toss her long red hair back over her shoulder. The deep slit down the bodice of her tunic fluttered open when she moved her arm and Harry saw that she was wearing an emerald green bathing suit in the same style as Hermione's.

"Oh!" Ginny giggled, her voice carrying on the breeze through the open window, "Did I tell you what I heard from my friend Kamaria? Oh, you know," she said impatiently at Hermione's blank expression, "Kamaria Mosi, in my year? She transferred to Hogwarts from Azizi-Bakari last winter? Well, anyway. Her parents are really good friends with the Patils, and she told me," Ginny was overcome with giggles again, "Parvati got an Augmentius Charm!"

Hermione snorted derisively. "Not that she needed one!"

"Hermione's got that right," Harry whispered to a snickering Ron.

"Yeah, but imagine Dean- and Seamus' faces when they see her!" Ron pointed out, and Harry started sniggering too.

"Definitely not," Ginny agreed, "But I guess she and Padma both did. And now they have modeling contracts with Gladrags. But I guess that's all it takes..."

"Well," Hermione teased, "Then you should be getting your Gladrags modeling contract within the next five seconds!"

Ginny's face flushed and she hit Hermione over the head playfully with the magazine. "Hermione!"

"Wait," Harry whispered to Ron, something suddenly dawning on him, "I thought Dean was going with Ginny!"

"No," Ron said smugly, "Ginny dumped him about two weeks before you came. She said he just 'didn't get it.' Glad she's shot of him."

"You like Dean," Harry reminded Ron, trying to be gentle in case Ron really had forgotten this.

"Yeah," Ron admitted, "But he's still a nutter. Football. What a nutter..."

Both boys turned back to the window just in time to see Hermione roll over onto her stomach, her caramel-brown back turned up to the sun. Ginny, still red, began flipping pages in her magazine again as Hermione lazily pointed her wand over her shoulder, untying the back of her top. Ron let out a wolf whistle.

"Hi, Ron," Hermione said loudly and clearly, not looking up at them at all. Ginny did, however, and waved. "Hi, Harry!"

Harry and Ron, crowing, slid off the windowseat and sat on the floor beneath it, out of view of the girls, to continue eavesdropping. After a minute -

"Boys," both Ginny and Hermione muttered together.

"Hey," Ginny said suddenly, "There's a Hair Relaxing Charm in his issue. Do you want to try it tonight?"

"Well..." Hermione said thoughtfully, though clearly tempted, "Isn't that what we were just laughing at Parvati for? Using magic for beauty?"

"Mione, I think this is a little different. It's less invasive, for one," Ginny giggled, "And two, it's much less shallow."

Hermione laughed too. "Well, in that case, OK."

"Kids?" Lupin's voice called, magically magnified. "We need all four of you in the kitchen, please."

Ron and Harry stood up simultaneously, both still snickering over Parvati's cosmetic conjuring and went into the kitchen, where they met Lupin, Fred, George, and the girls (Hermione had put on a blue sun dress over her bathing suit).

"Kids, I don't know if you've heard, but the King's Cross death toll is now over seven-hundred, and they've only finished about a quarter of the building."

Misery, so recently uplifted, resettled in Harry's stomach.

"So, tomorrow, the four of you will join an Order task."

They all - even Harry - looked up in interest.

"We are going to London to help recover bodies."


	3. All the Innocence in the World

**C** hapter **T** hree: **A** ll _the_ **I** nnocence _in the_ **W** orld

**B** reakfast the next morning was a tense affair. No one ate much - at least, Harry knew that he himself had only eaten a piece of dry toast and a cup of black tea. As they ate, Dumbledore - who had tied his long silver hair back into a ponytail, shrunk his beard and mustache back to his chin, and was wearing jeans, a plaid shirt, and a baseball cap, making him look somewhat like a farmer - explained to them their task.

"Muggle rescue teams can't get too far into the building because there's still Garroting Gas lingering inside, so the Muggle ministry has agreed to allow us to finish the recovery. They've told the press that we're an American aid organization called 'Phoenix Rising.'

"What we're to do is get as deep into the building as we can to remove bodies. There have been no survivors yet, but if there are any people still living, we are permitted to use any means necessary to save them.

"Do you all understand?"

"Professor Dumbledore," Hermione said tentatively, "how are we going to survive in the Garroting Gas?"

Harry could almost see Hermione's thought resonating in her eyes: She had a hard enough time breathing oxygen, how would she ever breathe in traces of noxious gas?

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "A spell of my own invention. I will show you when the entire Order team is in place at King's Cross."

"How many of us are coming?" Charlie asked, pushing his half-eaten toast away.

Dumbledore looked disheartened for a moment. "Only twenty. The others felt that they wouldn't be of help, or else they're Aurors tracking Pritchard and Moon."

There was silence for a few minutes as everyone drank the last dregs of their tea.

Finally Mrs. Weasley spoke. "Kids, I think you all had better go upstairs and get dressed - as Muggles, remember."

Harry, like the four Weasleys, had taken to eating breakfast in his pajamas - it was summer vacation, after all, and they had all gotten lazy. Hermione, too, came to breakfast in her nightdress, but always wore a dressing gown as well (much to Ron's disappointment). Now she, along with Harry and the others, nodded wordlessly and headed upstairs.

Ron and Harry didn't speak as they changed into jeans and tee-shirts - Harry, a red-and-gold striped polo, and Ron, an orange shirt with the Chudley Cannons logo on the breast pocket.

Harry left the room as Ron unscrewed the cap of Professor Ichabod's again. He didn't want to watch.

When he reached the kitchen again, he felt distinctly surly - partially due to the Professor Ichabod's and partially due to all the grinning pictures of Sirius he had to pass on his way downstairs. He then wished he could turn back, as he had arrived just in time to watch Hermione take her medications: Mrs. Weasley was capping the large, pink bottle of Painkilling Potion and Hermione was sticking the mouthpiece of her Respiratory Rehabilitator in her mouth. It looked, for the most part, like a Muggle asthma inhaler, except that it was twice as large and a bright, poisonous purple. As she finished her second puff, she shuddered and gagged quietly.

"That's nasty," she wheezed, capping the mouthpiece and slipping the Rehabilitator into her bag.

Ginny, looking very pretty in a pair of fitted blue jeans and a body-hugging black tee-shirt, with her shiny red hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, gave Hermione a sympathetic smile and rubbed her arm sisterly. Hermione, dressed identically to Ginny (except that her tee-shirt was white, to make her tan appear even darker) gave the younger girl an equally sisterly smile as she lifted the strap of her red bag over her head. It was only then that Harry noticed that the girls had indeed performed the Hair Relaxing Charm on Hermione despite the dire situation at hand, because her hair was now as sleek as Ginny's and plaited into two low braids.

Ron stumbled down the stairs into the kitchen, his eyes distinctly unfocused, followed by Fred and George, who looked uncharacteristically somber.

Dumbledore reentered the kitchen with Lupin (dressed almost like Bill, in ripped jeans and an "Unforgivable Curses 1975 Reunion Tour" concert shirt).

"All right," he said, looking around. "Is everyone ready? Where's Severus?"

"I'm here, I'm here," Snape grumbled, striding into the kitchen, looking very awkward in a black dress shirt and pants. "We should go."

"Right," Dumbledore said briskly, setting two torn-up tennis shoes on the kitchen table. "Girls, the left shoe, boys to the right. Chop-chop! That's it... we're appearing in the restrooms in a fast food restaurant down the street from King's Cross. Ready? 3... 2... 1..."

Harry felt his navel jerk forward and Ron and Fred slammed into him on either side of him - the boys got a raw deal, Harry thought, as there were ten of them to one Portkey, and only four girls.

When finally his feet slammed into the grimy linoleum of a bathroom, he toppled over - the only people left standing were Moody, Dumbledore, and Snape. Once the rest of them had disentangled themselves and stood, they met the girls - who looked much less battered - and walked down the street, approaching the station, in front of which four Order members waited with...

"Neville!" Hermione said in surprise, "He's helping?"

"He really wanted to be of use," Dumbledore explained, "And we need as many hands as we can get."

Hermione nodded, swallowing as her eyes lit upon the front of King's Cross station. The entire fa&ccedilade was quartered off with yellow Caution tape, and police vans, ambulances, and news trucks were stationed all around the doors. A man in tattered plaid slacks and a gray shirt was deep in conversation with a policeman at the main entrance, but looked up as they approached.

"You guys the volunteers from Phoenix Rising?" he called, looking at them gratefully.

"Yep," Dumbledore called back, in a perfect American accent, "All twenty of us. We're so sorry."

The man nodded, looking exhausted. He stuck his hand out as he came up to Dumbledore. They shook hands, and then the man whispered, "Thank you so much for coming. We just can't keep losing volunteers. I guess you guys have some kind of... magic... that will keep you safe?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Indeed. What do you need us to do?"

"Just recover as many bodies as you can - put them into bags and get them to the front entrance, we'll take care of them from there. And if you find anyone alive - "

"We will do everything in our power to save them," Dumbledore assured him. "Can I take my lot inside?"

The gray-shirted man nodded and the nineteen Order members followed Dumbledore into the front lobby.

"Now," Dumbledore said, very seriously, "please open your mouths."

Somewhat confused, they all did, and Dumbledore, one by one, depressed their tongues and said, " _Pulmonus Permeablae_!"

As soon as Amos Diggory, the last in line, had closed his mouth, Dumbledore announced, "You will now be able to breathe safely anywhere in the building. _Pulmonus Permeablae_ is a spell I invented which allows the recipient to breathe any gas or liquid as if it were oxygen. In essence, you can now breathe anything and still survive. Even you, Miss Granger," he added quietly. "Now, we are going to split into pairs. Tonks, Severus, and Minerva, you will remain here with me to receive bodies. Alastor, you and Filius - " he gestured towards Professor Flitwick - "Will be in charge of the nearest terminal on the right. Bill, Arabella, you will be responsible for the nearest left terminal."

Two by two, Dumbledore sent them off. Harry ended up with Ginny, and the two of them cautiously made their way into the farthest terminal away from the lobby, deep into the bowels of King's Cross.

The stench of death was overwhelming.

Tears sprung into Harry's eyes and Ginny gagged, then gasped, "Wait..."

She fumbled for her wand, then pointed it at Harry and croaked, " _Olfactiem_!"

The smell was gone. Harry quickly muttered his thanks and reciprocated the spell on Ginny, who was somewhat green.

"Thanks," Ginny breathed, her voice breaking. "Now where are we going?"

"A little further on, I think," Harry murmured, "I think I see..." he trailed off, unable to bring himself to say 'a pile of bodies.' "On the floor... over there..."

Ginny nodded and they continued toward the dark train terminal.

"This must be where they blasted the gas," Ginny whispered, barely audibly, more to herself than Harry, it seemed. "That wall is all crumbled..."

Harry noticed that Ginny did not mention the knee-deep field of human beings or the destroyed train - split into halves as if it was paper torn by hand - spilling more bodies into the terminal by tenfold.

"Well..." he whispered, "I guess - it's time to - to start..."

Ginny nodded. She grabbed Harry's hand, squeezed it tightly for a minute, then, taking a deep breath, waded away from him to the other side of the terminal, closest to the train.

Silence pressed suffocatingly upon Harry as he began digging through the pile, gingerly lifting each person into a blue bag and zipping it up to send via spell to the front lobby. Harry counted them unwillingly in his mind.

1... 2... 3...

A young woman with long, dark hair in a pretty black dress with a diamond ring on her left hand.

17, 18...

A wrinkled old gentleman in a pair of tweed slacks and a vest, clutching a copy of Charles Dickens' _Great Expectations_.

32, 33... 34... 35...

Suddenly the sound of an immense, dry sob forced Harry from his task. He looked hurriedly over at Ginny.

She stood several feet away, her face contorted into a look of pain beyond feeling and grief beyond tears, her shining red hair falling out of its tie and into her eyes.

She held a baby in her arms.

"Ginny..." Harry whispered, slowly approaching her.

Ginny cradled the baby close to her chest, her face working uncontrollably as she stared into the angelic, bluish face.

"Ginny?" Harry whispered again, putting a hand to her shoulder.

In a single movement, Ginny pushed the dead infant into Harry's arms, turned away from him, and vomited.

Harry tried not to look at the baby as he zipped it into its bag while Ginny continued retching. He tried not to notice its wispy brown curls or the bunny embroidered onto its pale yellow romper suit.

He tried not to notice how cold it seemed.

Once he finally managed to tear his eyes away from the tiny blue bag, floating gently away towards the lobby, Harry turned his attention to Ginny.

Wordlessly he began to rub her back, and brushed her hair out of her face. After ten minutes, she finally stood upright, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand.

Harry, leaving one hand on the small of her back, pointed his wand at a nearby sink faucet - disfigured from the blast - and murmured, " _Portus_."

Ginny looked up at him questioningly.

"Go home. I can do this myself, you don't need to - it's my f - it's my job."

Ginny nodded, her eyes unreadable, then picked up the Portkey. Within seconds, she had vanished.

With prickling eyes, Harry again began carefully extricating people from the rubble.

78, 79... 80...

* * *

Harry was the last person aiding the recovery to leave King's Cross; it was a quarter past eleven before Dumbledore Apparated at his side, laid a hand on Harry's arm, and told him that it was high time to go.

Together they took a briefcase handle back to Number 12. When they arrived - dirty, grimy, and haunted - in the kitchen, they found it dark, with a note on the table, which Dumbledore picked up.

"It looks as if everyone else has gone to bed," he said softly to Harry, "You, too, may retire."

Still numb, Harry shook Dumbledore's outstretched hand and they parted ways, Harry trudging toward to the stairs and Dumbledore, towards his quarters off the Magic-Free Room.

Sirius' grinning face seemed to leer at Harry from every picture lining the walls.

Harry felt glad that everyone else was asleep. In dreams, the 10,247 people at King's Cross could be alive. At least for all the others, the worlds could be right in their sleep...

Except, Harry realized, that not everyone was asleep. As he reached the second floor landing he saw a small redheaded figure in a nightdress cowering by the doorjamb of the bathroom, her back turned to him, shaking.

"Ginny?" Harry whispered, tip-toeing towards her, lit wand guiding the way.

Ginny's magnificent red head snapped up and she turned to look at Harry, tears streaming down her face.

"Harry - " she choked, her volume and pitch rising. "Harry - !"

"Shh," Harry whispered urgently, "You'll wake everyone up. Come on."

He motioned for her to follow him back downstairs, but Ginny merely doubled over, sobbing.

"Ginny, please, you'll wake everyone!" Harry begged, then, seeing that Ginny was crippled with grief, gently picked her up - as he had so many others that day - and carried her down the stairs and into the Magic-Free room, where he sank down onto the sofa, Ginny still clasping him tightly.

"Harry - " she gasped again, "I saw - _Harry_!"

She sounded panicked; she clutched at him frantically as though afraid Harry, too, would suddenly become blue and still like the baby.

"I know," Harry said consolingly, stroking Ginny's tangled hair. "I know..."

"I _hate_ him!" Ginny bawled, sounding strangled. " _I hate him_! I - Professor Dumbledore!"

Harry looked in the direction of Ginny's gaze and saw that Dumbledore was indeed standing in the doorway in a cobalt blue dressing gown, his beard returned to its normal majestic length. Harry felt a blaze of anger - entirely his own - as he looked into Dumbledore's calm, old face. How could he have sent them to King's Cross? How could he have allowed them to see what they had seen?

"Ginevra," Dumbledore sighed, sounding, for once, his immense age. "I am sorrier than you could know. Please, tell me what you feel."

Ginny's usually-gentle brown eyes held fire and ice. "It was - she was - he killed a baby! And I - I held it! I held it, and it was cold. And stiff. And silent. _Babies aren't supposed to be that way_!"

Tears had begun to obscure her words, and sniffed before continuing. "Babies are supposed to be warm, and soft, and - and he killed... innocence... and hope... and... and love. Because that's what babies are, they're innocence, and hope, and love.

"How could he _do_ that?

"And... I feel like he's going to kill all of the hope and love and innocence in the world. That's what he wants. He... _he killed a_ _baby_."

Dumbledore crossed to the sofa and sat down on the end of it, facing Harry and Ginny. "That is what he wants, Ginevra, you are correct. But he will not succeed."

Ginny burrowed closer to Harry and he tightened his arms around her instinctively. "How can you be so sure of that?" she whispered, tears still falling from her eyes.

Dumbledore's ancient, tired eyes smiled. "Because you are sitting in the arms of one baby that Lord Voldemort could not kill. As long as Harry is alive... so will be love, innocence, and - most especially - _hope_."


End file.
